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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652383">Sick on a Saturday Afternoon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabithaJean/pseuds/TabithaJean'>TabithaJean</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The X-Files</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort, Fluff, Scully has the flu, Sickfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:02:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25652383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabithaJean/pseuds/TabithaJean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Poor Scully has the flu, and handles it like the control freak she is. Mulder visits and helps her to relax. That's basically it. Just your typical sickfic. I love them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fox Mulder/Dana Scully</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sick on a Saturday Afternoon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her eyes are glassy and her face is white apart from bright, flushed cheeks which bloom in the dimly lit room. She looks at him mournfully, her eyebrows wrinkling in confusion.</p><p> </p><p>‘What are you doing here?’ She is stuffy, and the faint sour smell of illness emanates from her. His cheeks tingle as the heat of her apartment contrasts the white frost outside.  </p><p> </p><p>‘Weekends are long when you’re unwell.’ He busies himself boiling the kettle while she returns to her den on the couch. ‘How are you feeling?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Lousy.’ She puts her feet on the coffee table and rests her head on the back of the couch. ‘Sore. Everything feels bruised. I can’t decide if I’m too hot or too cold.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Aw Scully, that sounds terrible.’</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s just the flu. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.' Her voice is weedy. It could blow away with the wind. She moans with gratitude as he hands her a tea, ‘Mmmmmh. Thank you.’</p><p> </p><p>‘No problem.' He sits beside her and picks up an alarm clock from the side table. 'What’s this for?’</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s nothing,’ she mumbles, eyes closed. ‘I just use it to make sure I take the medication at the right time.’</p><p> </p><p>‘And that’s…’</p><p> </p><p>‘Every four hours.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You wake yourself up every four hours?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, I’m not always asleep. But yes, I set it every four hours.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you do this throughout the night, too?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I did last night,’ she says defensively, opening an eye to glare at him. ‘If I don’t, then I can’t keep the fever low.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Ok, ok!’ He holds his hands up in mock defeat and spots a notebook on the floor with columns, times and measurements. ‘And what’s this?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t want to tell you,’ she says sulkily. He waits until she sighs. ‘It’s a record of how much water I’ve drank.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh Scully,’ he says with sympathetic bemusement. ‘Why don’t you just rest?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I <em>am </em>resting, Mulder!’ She exclaims weakly. ‘I haven’t left my apartment since Thursday. I just need to keep track of things. Congratulations, you got me. I’m a control freak.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, I knew that. But I never thought you’d actually admit it.’</p><p> </p><p>‘What can I say? I’m in a moment of weakness.’ She blows her peeling, angry nose and discards her tissue carelessly on the floor where it joins a growing pile. ‘Bigfoot is real. Aliens walk among us. The moon landing didn’t happen.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Ok, now I <em>know</em> you’re sick,’ he laughs gently, and his insides glow as she preens under his attention, happy that she’s amused him. He lifts up his arm. ‘Come on. Get over here, Scully.’</p><p> </p><p>She scoots across and lays her head in his lap. He tugs her dressing gown away from her neck to release her radiating heat. Her neck is still tense: she’s weighing up this definite crossing of boundaries against the comfort of being looked after. Comfort wins out, it seems.  He finds the football game on TV and she hums with approval.</p><p> </p><p>‘I love having sports in the background,’ she yawns. ‘It reminds me of Sunday afternoons at home with my family. Missy would be baking a cake, and Mom would be visiting my grandmother. I’d sit in the summer room and read to the sound of commentary and my dad and brothers shouting from the den.’</p><p> </p><p>‘That sounds cosy.’ He strokes damp strands of hair from her forehead. The screen reflects in her too-bright eyes.</p><p> </p><p>‘It was.’ She looks up at him briefly. ‘I know it’s stupid, all this monitoring. Sometimes it’s tough when you’re sick and on your own. I just like to reassure myself.’</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s not stupid, Scully. I would probably do the same thing.’ She snorts, and he laughs. ‘Ok, I <em>wouldn’t</em> do the same thing.  But I understand how lonely it can get sometimes.’</p><p> </p><p>He watches the game in silence, and her head grows heavy as she relaxes. The cold winter sun peeks through the blinds, an unwelcome reminder that there’s a whole world outside of her still living room.</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t want to make you sick,’ Scully murmurs suddenly, and he jumps. He looks down to see her fighting sleep, moments of drifting turning into long blinks as she forces her eyes back open.</p><p> </p><p>‘Don’t worry about me. Iron constitution. How long since your last dose of medicine?’ He asks softly.</p><p> </p><p>‘Uh, about two hours,’ she says sleepily. ‘The clock is set for 4pm.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Ok. Why don’t you rest til then?’ She tries to sit up but he rests his hand heavily on her shoulder. ‘What do you need? I’ll go.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I was just going to get the thermometer so it’s here.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I’ll get it if we need it.’ He turns down the tv to a low undercurrent, and she lies back down. He starts idly stroking her hair again. ‘Have you seen the latest issue of The Lone Gunmen? Frohike has explored why flight times are actually getting longer. He’s linked it failed technological advances coming out of Area 51.’</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s hardly a technological advance if it’s failed,’ she scoffs weakly. ‘The Gunmen are crooks. Who buys this stuff?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Present.’ Her chest rattles as she laughs, whirling quickly into a mild coughing fit. ‘And Byers started banging his drum about new Coke again and the switch to high fructose corn syrup.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well at least that’s a little more grounded in reality.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Scully, did you just offer credibility to the Gunmen?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I wouldn’t go that far. Not even in this state.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Anyway. I remember when new coke first came out. We did a blind taste test at my friend Jordy’s apartment.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Could you tell the difference?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t remember. But I do remember it was during a party right after payday, so we all felt flush with cash. I remember brought Amanda Peyton, and my god I remember her sheer black top.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Charming.’</p><p> </p><p>Mulder chuckles, and keeps talking. Her eyes close as he tells her that Handsome Scott laughed at them for doing the test during a party, ruining it by topping the coke up with Vodka. He tells her how the night ended up with Mulder walking Amanda home while she cried about her ex-boyfriend. How his father used to let he and Samantha share a coke when they went on long car journeys. That to this day he can’t enter a diner without also getting a coke, and that he’s still excited when he gets the whole bottle to himself. He talks until she drops her tissue, and her congested snores echo louder than the stories he’s telling.</p><p> </p><p>Her cheeks are still red, and her forehead shines with a light sheen of sweat. Mulder switches off the alarm. He turns up the tv slightly, continuing to stroke Scully’s hair while the Bears score a touchdown against the Lions. The sun slides down from the blinds, taking the everything else with it, and the room glows rose pink in the early sunset.</p>
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